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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604864">Le Crabe Marbré</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajkal2/pseuds/ajkal2'>ajkal2</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Gerry Gets One (1) Beach Episode</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:33:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604864</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajkal2/pseuds/ajkal2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerry is on a beach. It's not a sunny beach.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gerard Keay &amp; Gertrude Robinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Le Crabe Marbré</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/antiv3nomarts/gifts">antiv3nomarts</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>happy birthday anti! i heard you like Gerry and also crabs so here's a gerry and crab fic for you &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gerry sits on the sand, legs splayed out, propped up on his elbows. The beach is just south of Calais. Audresselles, he thinks that was the name, some tiny village. The water is more grey than blue, the sand wet and littered with sharp pieces of shells.</p><p>Fuck it’s cold. He’s got his leather jacket, of course, never goes anywhere without it, but the wind off the ocean is sharp and cold, prickling his throat, his hands, his ankles.</p><p><em>I’ll only be a minute, </em>Gertrude said, an hour and a bloody half ago. <em>Go look at the sea. </em>Like he was five. God, she could be so <em>infuriating- </em></p><p>Something moves, by his foot. Gerry springs up, scrambling backward. with a yelp What was- the Vast, maybe this close to the sea, or- sand, the Buried, hell, maybe <em>both, </em>or- he’s the only one out here, what if it’s the-</p><p>Gerry looks down. A tiny, dark brown crab waves it’s little claws at him.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>All the air whooshes out of Gerry’s lungs. A crab. It was just- A crab. A tiny one. About the size of his palm.</p><p>It scuttles around, picking it’s way through the shells.</p><p>“Hey little guy,” Gerry says softly. He crouches down. He’s always liked animals.</p><p>The crab wiggles it’s little eye-stalks at his finger. It’s got these patterns all over it, cream blotches on it’s shell. Pretty. </p><p>“Are you- I don’t think you’re meant to be out of the water,” Gerry muses. He watches the little thing place some legs on a razor shell, unbalancing itself when the shell slides down the dune. It flips onto it's back, almost, and he reaches out, presses one finger to the shell to flip it back onto it's feet. “Should I put you back in the sea?”</p><p><em>Pachygrapsus marmoratus </em>avoids deep water, preferring tidal pools, Gerry is suddenly aware. The eyes on his first knuckles blink at him. The hairs on the back of Gerry’s neck rise.</p><p>Gerry rolls his eyes, the ones in his head, and mutters a ritual prayer to the Dark. That sense of being watched fades, almost grumpy. Well, tough. He may be travelling with the Archivist, but no Power’s making moves on <em>him. </em>He’s a strong, independent monster-hunter who doesn’t need no fear god, thank you very much.</p><p>The crab bumps into a larger rock. Gerry looks at it, and sighs. “Let’s find you a rockpool, shall we?” he says, carefully reaching down. The crab waves it’s claws at him, but he grabs it by the back of it’s shell, lifting carefully. It’s damp, and a bit slimy, and very light. It’s legs twitch against his hand.</p><p>Gerry smiles. He hooks his bag with his other hand, swinging it up onto his shoulder, and walks off towards the rocks.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fun facts: the crab is a real type of crab. look <a href="http://www.livingmagazine.fr/feature/entry/nature-wildlife/rock-pools-in-france.html"> here </a> for pictures, they are sweet! </p><p>Audresselles is a real place where they have a crab festival every year. I wanna go. </p><p>&lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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